When the wind howls in the big voice of the southeasterly through our valley we listen all right. Well, I listen. David seems to be able to sleep through most anything, except me jumping every time a branch or fir cone is slammed onto our tin roof.
Such was our Sunday evening when I first heard the whipping of the branches. I listened. I got up and checked for a Mayne Island wind warning. Sure enough:
Southeasterly winds up to 80 km/h will spread to East Vancouver Island, Southern Gulf Islands, Greater Victoria and the Sunshine Coast early Monday morning.
The Southern Gulf Islands is us. The Weather Network confirmed what I already knew. We were in for a bit of weather. I send out a note here and there to let people know I may be off line due to power outages. You see, it has to do with these big fir trees that get blow around like reeds of grass in these storms. With the heavy rains we have been having the earth is soft and then against their best efforts over they go onto the power lines.
I head back to bed, sleeping lightly until about 5:00 am when the winds are really getting carried into a frenzy. The chair on the deck gets knocked over, cardboard boxes from my prints are flying around and it sounds like the roof is getting hit with machine gun blasts of debris. But the electricity is still on. I get up, make coffee and post my painting in our G+ with Brushes group gallery. The lights are flickering and my fingers rush. At 5:50 am the room goes dark. The winds continues to howl. I call down from the loft to David to turn on the battery lamp that is by the bed so I can see to get back down the stairs. I take it from him to read until daylight. He rolls over and begins to snore. I want to shake him! But I don’t. I take up vigil in the grandpa chair in the great room reading and wait for the soft light of dawn and the storm to end. Daylight comes and the storm continues.
Eventually, I notice someone is up trying to find breakfast while keeping one eye on the sky for falling objects.
She is braver than me. I wouldn’t want to be out there.
After a nice long sleep-in David finally gets up and decides he just has to have toast for breakfast. No problem.
In the early afternoon the rains come and I know the storm has about blew herself out. After awhile the rains stop and the mist starts to roll its beauty through the trees.
An eagle rests quietly. I exhale and say to self – well that wasn’t so bad. It is the same thing I say after having dental work.
We listen to CBC public radio on our excellent emergency transistor and hear that the winds reached 100 km/h and other than a roof being blown off in Campbell River, 300 marine emergency calls, ferries had been cancelled and tens of thousands of people without power, all is well. I make hamburger stew for supper and we visit by candlelight in the quiet.
Sometime during the night the power comes back on and David volunteers to get up and turn off all the lights we had switched on absent-mindedly during the day when they were not working. Then I sleep – really sleep, until the moon is shining in the window at 6:00 am this morning. Making toast is a little less like camping this morning.
SPROUT: How do you weather a creative storm?
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From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada
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